


A Hundred Minus One Day

by AwaitTheMorrow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is a Good Boyfriend, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Stiles Stilinski Has a Bad Day, Supportive Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 09:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14258022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwaitTheMorrow/pseuds/AwaitTheMorrow
Summary: “What happened?” Derek inquires gently, subtly turning down the volume of the TV.“Just hate it,” Stiles shrugs a little, shifting slightly to draw his feet up on the sofa. He licks his lips, “Hate that I have to work eight hours a day, hate the commute, hate my boss....”Stiles has a bad day. Derek takes care of him.





	A Hundred Minus One Day

**Author's Note:**

> so I had a tough week at work and I really needed a creative break from a prompt I am writing for an exchange and somehow this happened. enjoy xo

Stiles leans forward to rest his weight against the front door of his house, pressing his forehead against the wood, hand loosely grasping his keys. He takes deep, steadying breaths through his nose and wills himself to move inside, but the air is crisp and cool and it feels really nice against the back of his neck.

As soothing as the winter chill feels against his heated skin and throbbing head, he is beginning to lose some feeling in his fingers, so he gathers his remaining gumption and heads inside, toeing off his shoes as he closes the door softly behind him with a click. There are lights illuminating the hallway that reflect off the polished floorboards and the soft tones of a person talking on the television coming from the living room; Stiles immediately feels some of the threads of tension knitted into his shoulders incrementally come loose.

The house is warm enough for Stiles to slip off his jacket and leave it lying haphazardly on the hall stand while he decides whether or not to just go straight to bed. It’s a close call but he decides against it as he realizes it’s only mid-evening and doesn’t want to screw up his sleep pattern too much, it's too damn hard to correct it. Instead, he follows the siren call of the noise and flashing lights coming from the otherwise dark living room. He spots Derek parked on one side of the sofa, bare feet propped up on the dark pine coffee table, eyes trained on some animal documentary playing on the screen.

For once, the relief rising in Stiles heart drowns out the fluttering of butterflies when Derek turns to him and smiles. Despite the piercing pain behind his eyes and the weariness in his spirit he can’t help but smile back and crosses the room to take the seat next to him.

Derek, warm and soft, raises his arm so Stiles can slump against his side and lets it drop gently along his shoulders once he’s securely burrowed into his chest.

“You finish early today?” Stiles mumbles, watching a weird, blob-looking frog waddle around on the TV screen. Derek’s fingertips are brushing gentle strokes along Stiles shoulder and he reaches his hand up, linking their fingers together.

Derek turns away from the screen for a moment to press a chaste kiss to Stiles temple, bristles making Stiles’ skin tingle pleasantly. “Clocked out at three. How was work?”

“Lucky you,” Stiles muses, swiping his thumb over Derek’s knuckles. “Work fucking sucked, like, big time. I hate it there I swear to god.”

The arm around his shoulder tightens and in the quiet and dark of the room, Stiles feels a little bit like the embrace could protect from everything else in the world, surrounded like this by hard muscle and warm skin. Safe and comforted, Stiles tilts his head up a fraction to press his lips to Derek's cheek and Derek turns his head to catch his lips in a sweet, closed mouth kiss.

Closing his eyes, he rests his head against Derek’s shoulder and sighs.

“What happened?” Derek inquires gently, subtly turning down the volume of the TV.

“Just hate it,” Stiles shrugs a little, shifting slightly to draw his feet up on the sofa. He licks his lips, “Hate that I have to work eight hours a day, hate the commute, hate my boss....”

“The one with the Cruella de Vil hair?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says softly, nose buried into Derek’s collarbone and breathing in the scent of light sweat and soap. His head rises with each breath that Derek takes and he can almost hear his heartbeat from this close.

“What’d she do?”

Derek’s thumb strokes the underside of Stiles wrist and it’s comforting enough to prompt him to continue. “I come back from my lunch hour and see she’s sent me this like, essay of an email telling me everything I’ve done wrong that day and is like: ' _why Stiles, do you honestly think this is acceptable Stiles_ ,  _why can’t you do x, y and z, Stiles?’_ ”

Derek makes a sympathetic noise and squeezing Stiles’ fingers. Residual frustration burns up his throat, and it feels cathartic to let all the smoke and ash out.

“I’m like, fuck, because I’m human? It’s not up to me to do the work of three freakin’ people because she’s too cheap to hire more staff, y’know?”

“Want me to rip out her throat with my teeth?”

Stiles snorts softly, curling his sock-clad toes. “Not yet, but ask me again on Monday.”

“Mmm’k,” Derek assents, turning back to the TV for a moment when it does a close up on the same gelatinous, beady-eyed frog. “Did you email her back?”

“Tried to,” Stiles replied, “but every time I started a new draft I just kept writing _fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,_ so. She just makes me so _angry_.”

“Why don’t you quit?”

Turning around a bit, Stiles shuffles down the sofa so that he can rest his head on Derek’s thigh, he presses his nose into the soft material of the mans sweatpants and brings their joined hands to rest lightly on his chest. “I’d love to leave, trust me, but then she’d win. I don’t want her to have the satisfaction of thinking that she got the better of me.”

“Is making sure she doesn’t win worth being so unhappy, though?”

“Maybe,” Stiles ponders, watching the beefy frog dig into some sand, “I don’t know.”

Above him Derek hums thoughtfully, his other hand coming to trace Stiles’ eyebrows slowly, smoothing down the hairs. It feels good. Derek always knows how to touch him even when it’s not sexual.

Even before they started this thing, their relationship, Stiles didn’t know that there lived this delicate, reverent version of Derek. Every time they found new ways of fitting their bodies together, or even new ways of placing the lightest touch on one another made Stiles’ heart swell and swell until he thought it would overflow and burst. Their bond grew over time - and with it so did a fierce protectiveness of the man that he didn’t anticipate having when they first met - but Stiles knew now that he would always, always be guardian to Derek’s heart, would always try and make him happy. He would do anything for him.

“Hey babe,” Stiles nudges Derek’s stomach some time later, blinking to keep himself from falling asleep. “I think we should both quit our jobs and just travel. Just get in the car and keep driving, y’know? You, me, the open road.”

Derek smiles down at him, drawls: “Now? Yeah sure, let me go just pack a bag while you notify the landlady.”

Not to be deterred, Stiles whines, moving upright to arrange his body to straddle Derek’s legs, wrapping his arms around the shoulders of the wolf. He plays with the short hairs on the nape of Derek’s neck and presses a pouty kiss to his lips. “C’mon, I’m serious. We could cruise through the states, find cute little towns to explore, eat at those diners you like with the laminated menus.”

“The diners _I_ like?” Derek quizzes, big hands coming to rest on Stiles hips.

Stiles nods, shifting forward until his knees are firmly pressed into the back of the couch and their groins are nearly touching. “Yeah. Or we could camp out somewhere, you can do your big bad werewolf routine and bring us a fresh kill for dinner.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, big guy. Except maybe don’t kill it and skin it near me. That’s gross and I will vomit.”

Derek tuts, dipping his thumbs under the waistband of Stiles’ jeans and caressing his hip bones. “You’re so hard to please."

Stiles scoffs, rolling his eyes. He leans forward to slide their noses against one another. “We both know that’s a damn lie.”

Contentment pitter-patters all over his skin when they bring their lips together, kissing softly and unhurriedly, relishing in the warmth of their bodies pressed closely against each other. Breathing through his nose Stiles tilts his head and opens his mouth slightly to capture Derek’s bottom lip between his own, sucking it lightly and tracing it with his tongue. An arm comes up around Stiles waist as the kiss deepens, his hands move of their own volition to entangle themselves in Derek’s hair.

He feels it again; a deeply rooted sense of longing unfurling in his chest, widening the expanse of it’s tendrils through his whole body down to his fingertips and toes, desperately trying to connect with this person in his arms. It pulls at his skin, like their beings could become inextricably intertwined if only they could be closer - and no matter what he does, no matter how entangled they are around and inside each other, it’s never enough.

Stiles pulls away to catch his breath, sliding his hands back to rest on each side of Derek’s neck. Derek’s eyes are hazy when he tugs the collar of Stiles’ shirt down and leans forward to place a kiss on the divot between Stiles’ collarbones, the bristles of his beard tickling Stiles’ skin.

“What’s for dinner?” Stiles asks distractedly, Derek’s hands having migrated and moving in slow circles on Stiles’ ass over his jeans.

“Thought I’d catch us a wild boar, drag it in from outside and skin it on the kitchen table,” Derek answers, kissing the underside of Stiles jaw. “But then... what would the neighbours think?”

Stiles lips stretch into a smile that he hides into Derek’s hair. “They’d think: _look at that hairy, burly man providing for his boyfriend, oh my, ooh la la_.”

“I always provide for you.”

“I know,” Stiles cajoles, “but you don’t always get sweaty and shirtless to do it.”

Derek snorts against his neck, rapidly kissing up the column of his throat to catch Stiles lips briefly. “You just want to do that role-play again,” he accuses.

“Which one?”

“Little Red Riding Hood and the Lumberjack.”

“Oh yeah,” Stiles reminisces fondly, grinding his hips down. “That was hot. Remember how hard you fucked me that day? There was a very distinct possibility I had bruises from where your balls were slapping against my ass.”

“I remember pulling a _splinter_ from your ass. Don’t you?”

Stiles waves his hand before settling it back on Derek’s face, stroking his earlobe between his thumb and forefinger, Derek’s hips rolling beneath to meet his. “Yes, but that was afterwards, it doesn’t count.”

Derek rolls his eyes and palms the front of Stiles’ jeans where he’s hard and straining against them. Stiles breath catches in his throat, rising up on his knees to unzip the fly and pull down the waistband of his jeans and briefs to rest just below his ass. His cock springs free and before he can touch himself Derek’s broad hand comes to squeeze the sensitive head. With a hiss Stiles eyelids flutter and his mouth drops, the feeling of Derek’s breath against his mouth and the fingers gripping his cock sending jolts up his spine. Beneath him, Derek shifts, pulling his sweatpants down and freeing his own erect cock, taking both their lengths together with a saliva-slicked hand.

“We doing this here?” Derek whispers, kissing Stiles quickly.

Stiles groans softly, bringing one of his hands into the fray, the other clutching onto Derek’s shoulder. “Can you be bothered moving?”

Derek pauses for a second, halting their movements. Behind him Stiles hears a British accent narrate about how female turtle frogs lay up to fifty eggs before Derek shuts off the TV with the remote resting on the armrest, leaving the living room illuminated only by the hallway light.

“What the fuck is a turtle frog?” Stiles asks when Derek returns to his previous task, gripping Stiles length at the base and twisting up, thumb teasing the slit of Stiles’ cock.

“A really weird distraction,” Derek replies, bringing his other hand to reach behind Stiles to rub his fingers down Stiles crack. Everywhere his skin touches Stiles feels like a trail of fire and when a hot fingertip grazes over his hole his stomach clenches, head going blissfully cloudy.

The avaricious clawing in his chest that wants him to submerge himself in Derek urges him to fall and so he does, leaning forward to kiss the man sweetly, ears devouring the smack of their lips together, their laboured breaths. The hand that had been grasping Derek’s shoulder moves to skirt upwards to grip the side of the man's neck, thumb swiping back and forth over his hairy jaw.

Hips rolling together sensually in a slow grind for long moments, Stiles cock spurts enough pre-come to drip down into his bush and between their lengths, helping to slick the way for their intertwined fingers. The tight grip stroking him up and down, up and around is stoking the heat building low in his gut and he moans low as it begins to build higher and hotter.

He brings their mouths together then, twisting his wrist to jerk Derek faster while he slips his tongue between the man's lips. They exchange loud and devouring kisses, biting lips with gentle teeth and sliding their tongues together.

They part briefly and Derek groans beneath him, gripping Stiles cheek, slipping a dry fingertip up to the first knuckle into his unprepared hole. It stings a little but the pleasure consumes the sensation and he filthily grinds back into the fingertip, Derek’s control ensuring it doesn’t go further. When Stiles shuts his eyes, he can see easy how even in the midst of his own arousal Derek still tries to care for him and it’s enough to bring him suddenly over the edge, spilling over their fingers with stuttered breaths.

Fingers and toes numb in pleasure and still quivering from his release, Stiles doubles his efforts, opening his eyes and locking his hazy gaze with Derek's. The man’s brow furrows as Stiles grips him from the base and twists up, his other hand coming down to fondle Derek’s balls, rolling them in his palm.

Derek doesn’t break their stare or say anything, but Stiles can tell by the way his chest quickly rises and the way his breath hitches that he’s close to coming. “C’mon babe,” he whispers, kissing him again, “I got you.”

Moments after, Derek comes with a barely withheld moan, head falling forward to furrow his nose into Stiles neck, strong arms coming up to wrap around his waist. For a second all Stiles can hear is the slowing thud of blood pumping around his body and brings his hands up to run his fingers through Derek’s hair, his heart spellbound by the way Derek goes quiet and pliable with satiety. He’s always like this after an orgasm, utterly docile and unguarded, face usually hidden shyly by an arm or nuzzled into Stiles neck. It’s incredibly endearing and it makes that wild, heady combination of possessiveness and protectiveness flare up like a storm in his chest. He wouldn’t try and temper the impulse even if he could, proud of the way they’ve come together as a team and take care of each other.

Balancing carefully, he leans back to the coffee table and retrieves some wet-wipes from the drawer. With a kiss to Derek’s temple he cleans them up with gentle hands, tucking their soft, spent cocks back into their respective clothing. Satisfied and relaxed, he slides off Derek’s lap and resumes their initial position, tucked into his side but presses their foreheads together.

“Love you,” Stiles whispers, leaning back and tangling his fingers with Derek's, who seems to have recovered when he brings their joined fingers to his mouth to kiss the back of Stiles’ hand.

“Love you the most,” Derek replies and for just a second it bates the yearning under Stiles skin, like a cooling balm on sunburn. “You feeling better?”

“Way better,” Stiles smiles, nudging Derek’s shoulder with his own, butterflies back to their original beat. “Wanna go get burgers and drive to the beach tomorrow?”

Derek yawns, tilting his head from side to side to stretch out his neck. “You just want to do that role-play again, but sure.”

“Which one?”

“The Lusty Mermaid and the Lifeguard.”

“Oh yeah,” Stiles grins, “that was a good one.”

When he turns to look at Derek he sees affection swelling in the man’s eyes, his cheeks pink under his facial hair and healthy. Stiles thinks himself so lucky that he gets to see, to have, Derek like this, warm and breathing and so alive and with _him_ of all people _._  He’d been so afraid of the falling at first, of the ever consuming need to touch and make this man happy, thinking that he would need to surrender parts of himself in the pursuit of it. Turns out that the only forfeit was in the time he’d lost holding himself back and that in loving Derek he was still all of himself, only amplified - augmented.

They trade short, chaste kisses until the hunger in Stiles’ stomach refuses to be ignored. The worries of the day long forgotten he whispers, “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> [come cry about these losers](http://bloodgutsandstarbucks.tumblr.com)


End file.
